Finding the Balance
by badmediakarma
Summary: Oneshot based off Jhumpa Lahiri's A Temporary Matter Shoba tries to find resolve after hearing Shukumar's confession. Should she push him away, or draw closer? just a short fic I made for a short story assignment in English. Please review!


"They say everything happens for a reason, but is that really true?" Shoba stopped herself mid-thought before she could come to a conclusion; she was wondering aloud again. The rain was pouring outside, drowning the sun but not Shoba's despondency. Right now, the only thing the rain was doing for her was making the headache pulsing through her temples throb even harder. Fumbling through her newly implemented medicine cabinet, she pulled out an Advil to go with her Club Soda. Shoba didn't trust herself with alcohol; at least not right now, when what she needed most was the strength to rely on her own. As much as she hated to admit it, Shoba was a terrible drunk, and quite frankly, the last thing she needed was to wake up the next morning, disoriented and confused, with five missed calls from Shukumar. Shukumar. Though she hastened to deny it, Shoba missed him. She missed him even more now than when they'd been together, living under the same roof yet so far apart. Every morning she wondered whether Shukumar had gotten up yet. Every night as she lay in bed past midnight, her thoughts too wide awake to shut off with her eyes, Shoba wondered whether Shukumar was doing the same thing. She had a guilty feeling in the pit of her stomach when she thought about him. Shoba knew right from wrong; she was blatantly aware that leaving Shukumar after his confession had been wrong. But it hadn't been a mistake. She knew she had made the right decision; in fact, she was more confident now than she had been last week, before he'd told her the very last thing she'd wanted to hear. She just needed time, she'd explained. That was all. She knew "time away" often led to separation, but Shukumar would understand. He always had. Shoba took a swig of her Club Soda, instantly spitting out the salty beverage. Alcohol or Club Sodium. Was there a healthy balance?

The buzzing in Shoba's hand jolted her out of her daze.

"Hello?"

"Shoba!" The relieved voice on the other end exclaimed. "I'm waiting outside the restaurant. Are you still planning on meeting me here?" Shoba silently cursed her recently developed disorganization. She felt as though she hardly knew herself anymore. What happened to the woman who could whip up a mouthwatering meal in seconds, who color coded textbook errors so elaborately that even Shukumar couldn't understand them?

"I'm so sorry, Frank. Something popped up; I'll be there in ten."

Throwing on an old dress Shukumar had once complimented her on, Shoba grabbed her work briefcase and dashed out the door.

The restaurant was nice. A cliché adjective, but the only one that came to mind when she pulled open the gold painted doors. The decorations were cheesy, but not over the top; the atmosphere high-class, but not elegant. In the bright lights of the dining room, Shoba began to doubt herself. Frank may have been her boss, but couldn't they talk business over coffee in the office lounge? He'd been asking her about dinner for weeks now, but it wasn't until she'd moved out of her house with Shukumar that Shoba had accepted his offer. She knew the fancy dinner reservations hadn't been made with business in mind, but she'd accepted his offer with the intention of getting Shukumar out of her thoughts in the process. With Shukumar were memories, memories Shoba wanted to push into the corner of her mind until they sunk so far back she could forget about them altogether.

Frank waved her over from a table in the corner.

"I'm so sorry about this," Shoba apologized, sitting down. "I feel awful"

"Don't worry about it. I get to see you tonight; that's all that matters."

Shoba smiled uncomfortably. "So what's this proposition you've been so excited to tell me about?"

"Ah, yes," he chuckled at the straightforwardness of the question. "Would you be willing to accept a promotion to floor manager of the proofreading department? You'll have a heavier workload, more responsibilities, but-"

"I'll accept!" Shoba practically screamed. "More work, more distraction," she couldn't help but think. It wasn't until a few seconds later that she began to consider his proposition. Her work had been less than adequate these days; her late arrival to their dinner only further proved her lapsing organizational techniques. Why was her boss promoting her now? The question was eating her inside, freezing the edges of her body, stiffening the smile on her face. Shoba's head hurt. Why were the lights so bright? The color was blinding her vision, blurring the room.

Frank was going on about the job, but he was above the surface of Shoba's broken thoughts. His voice muffled now, she knew she could never reach out to him. Sinking inside the interior of the ordinary world, his motivations were unconcealed now; hidden intentions only furthering his cloaked desires.

"March Twenty-Sixth will be a day to remember."

"March Twenty-Sixth..."

A new realization dawned upon her; the six month anniversary of a day she had tried her absolute hardest to forget. Shoba sobbed. She wept for the knowledge Shukumar had shared, and the things left unknown, which she had run away from, refusing to confront. She could not gain closure from avoidance; this she was beginning to understand. If she kept avoiding the truth, could she ever move on?

She didn't explain herself; she could do so later but instead exited the restaurant in a hurry, murmuring an inaudible, "Goodnight."

The lights were off inside Shukumar's house, but somehow Shoba felt more sure than ever as she walked up the stone porch steps. There would be no light blinding her from the truth tonight. Could Shukumar's story heal her? Shoba didn't know, but she had to find out.


End file.
